Scattering Ashes
By Regina Winkle-Bryan
I’ve had the sad honor of scattering two sets of ashes this year. One was a family friend who left us too soon, leaving us broken-hearted and stunned by how unfair life can be. And then my sweet old dog slipped away from me in June, finally succumbing to cancer.
Ashes. I keep thinking about ashes and endings, and then what happens next (eventually): the new beginning.
Smoke and ash enveloped the West Coast in the late summer and early autumn of this year. In Seattle, where I live, it was especially thick in mid-September. The sun was a weird blood-orange in the morning, and we all had to double down on staying indoors -- if not for COVID, then for fire.
One friend grimly pointed out, “Well, at least we all have masks.” But the masks didn’t do much to protect us or those in Portland, Oregon, which achieved the unenviable rank of number one worst air quality in the world on September 11th. Forget the mask, experts said, just stay indoors if you can.
Of course, there were plenty of people who could not stay in. They had jobs to do, deliveries to drop off, animals to evacuate, fires to fight. I grew up in Oregon and I’ve never seen fires so bad. No one has. Usually, the fires are further east in the drier part of the state where trees are sparse and sage grows fluffy and pungent.
But not this year. 2020 is a season of surprises, and most of them have not been particularly positive. (I’m looking at you, COVID, rampant unemployment, emboldened racists).
As the fires raged, those of us who already felt trapped by travel restrictions were suddenly even more confined. When COVID hit hard in this area back in March, the saving grace for many was the arrival of spring. Flowers were blooming, the days were getting longer, and we could walk outside.
Personally, I walked for miles through new neighborhoods and in any park that wasn’t closed to the public. I beheld the new buds and twittering birds and I thought, “At least I have this!” When summer arrived, it was possible to hike, backpack, camp, and explore the outdoors while still feeling safe.
The fires put an end to all that. They terrorized locals, destroyed homes, and even killed some people. Businesses that were already struggling were slapped again by this natural disaster. Wineries worried about their harvests. Lodges burned to the ground. People saw their hopes, dreams, and livelihoods turn to ash.
Of course, layered upon all of this was also the existential threat of the climate crisis. The warning that this is, in fact, the new normal. That the fires will get bigger, wilder, fiercer, and that across the planet the weather will become more extreme as sea levels rise and whole communities and cultures are forced to evacuate from disappearing places.
Are you depressed yet?
Maybe a little anxious?
I feel like sadness and anxiety are appropriate reactions. But there’s hope, right? I am forever an optimist, so I say yes, yes there is hope.
There is a new beginning.
I’m not going to address the bigger picture -- things like climate change and COVID -- because that’s too much to tackle here and I am not a scientist. Instead, I want to spotlight a specific business that has suffered this year, a place that I love and kept an obsessive eye on as the fires burned.
A place trying to begin again.
Breitenbush, in Detroit, Oregon, has been a travel destination for me for 20 years. I have experienced Breitenbush Hot Springs and Retreat Center during every season: spring when the river is fullest; the celebration of summer when towels damp from river swimming hang from banisters; autumn when the air carries a spicy kick. But it’s deep winter I relish most, when snow covers the ground and cabins exude warmth from geothermal radiators. Deep in the woods, and completely off-the-grid, a visit to Breitenbush is a digital detox and a place to connect with yourself and nature.
Like many communities and businesses, Breitenbush was dealt a losing hand this year. First, COVID. No one wants to go to a communal hot spring during a pandemic. They had to close down and rethink their approach. Just as they had re-opened with innovative safety measures in place and brand-new private tubs to allow soaking, the Beachie Creek and Lionshead fires ripped through the property and the staff had to evacuate.
Some community members stayed to fight the flames. They managed to save portions of the property, including the historic lodge where so many of us have enjoyed delicious meals, live music, yoga classes, or peaceful naps in the library. Laughter and warmth spilled from this central hub, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I read it had survived.
But the rest of the property was not spared. Nearly half of the structures burned to the ground, including all guest cabins, the Sanctuary, the Vista (massage house), the footbridge, Well House 4, the maintenance bay and woodshop, and several community cabins.
It’s a simple thing to give money if you have it. The Breitenbush community needs donations to rebuild. But they are also asking for connections, which some of you may have. Sometimes our greatest resource is the people we know. The Breitenbush staff is requesting “support by connecting community members with jobs, housing, and work-trade opportunities.”
2020 has been a year in which a lot of dreams have gone up in smoke. My own company, a travel business, looks completely different now than I thought it would back in late 2019. It’s okay. It’s fun, even. But it’s definitely not what I expected. After all, we can’t travel to Spain or Italy at the moment.
Some businesses are not going to make it through COVID. Several businesses that I used to patronize have closed for good, and I know you have had similar experiences with places you love. We can’t save them all. But Breitenbush has decided to rise from the ash, and I want to support the rebirth of this COVID-fire-2020 phoenix all the way to 2021 success.
Help if you can. And someday, when they have rebuilt and COVID is behind us, do yourself a favor and book a little cabin deep in the woods, and allow yourself the generous gift and magic that is Breitenbush.
Thank you.